


The Feline Interpreters

by EchoSilverWolf



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cat Sitting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Idiots in Love, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Misconstrued Conversations, Sherlock Holmes Experiments on John Watson, mini chapters, poor John is so confused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 09:01:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12339579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoSilverWolf/pseuds/EchoSilverWolf
Summary: “John, tell me that I have completely lost my mind and you did not bring some feral feline home with you.”********John agrees to pet sit for Molly's cat, Toby, and Sherlock is NOT pleased. Comical incidents occur, and conversations are misconstrued-all leading to an unexpected outcome.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [englandwouldfalljohn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/englandwouldfalljohn/gifts).



> Betaed as usual by the lovely: englandwouldfalljohn(theladyamalthea)

_“WHAT_ in the hell was _that!”_ and John, carrier at his feet, freezes in the doorway. Sherlock’s voice was calling out, agitated, from the sofa in response to a very loud and annoyed yowl permeating the quiet flat.

“Uh, yeah, so…” he starts as his flatmate sits up, eyes flashing to the cage on the floor and back up to glare at him.

“John, tell me that I have _completely_ lost my mind and you did _not_ bring some feral feline home with you.”

“Not exactly, no. Uh. I sorta promised Molly I'd look after Toby for a few days, and well, I wasn't comfortable going in and out of her flat, so…”

“So you brought the creature _here?”_ Sherlock’s eyes boring into him were seriously making him regret this decision.

“You like _dogs,_ Sherlock, I assumed a few days with a cat would be nothing. Self sufficient mostly, minimal care…” he takes a step back as his flatmate pushes into his space, kneeling to peer in at a very agitated Toby who was bristling and letting out a low warning growl.

“Delightful.” The eyeroll is audible. “I do so look forward to hair balls and cat fur everywhere.” He glances up at John who is standing a few feet back, away from both a pissed off cat and an irritated Sherlock.

“John, for god sake, at least let the beast out; it sounds ready to tear its way free if you don't.” He rises and stalks off to the kitchen, beakers clanking as he calls out,

“Do not expect me to feed or clean up after or interact with it at all _..and keep it away from my microscope.”_


	2. Chapter 2

_ “ _ Jawwwwnn! The creature is on my laptop….again!  _ Jawwwn?!” _

As his exclamations remain unanswered, he recalls that John had left earlier to pick up some groceries at Tesco.

Not here to remove the annoying fur ball curled in a heap on his computer.  

Unacceptable. The feline is John's responsibility.

With a sigh of resignation. he makes his way cautiously to the desk and gives Toby a small tentative shove. Wide yellow eyes stare back defiantly as the large tabby refuses to budge.

He gives the cat another, firmer push and is rewarded with a hiss and a irritated swipe of claws - jerking his hand away before they can break skin.

“You are quite an annoying little arsehole, you know. It is quite baffling how anyone can tolerate living with you!”

“Well, ta, that's the last time I buy your groceries, then!” John's voice is behind him; he hadn't even heard him come in. He turns to find his flatmate smirking at him.

“I was speaking to the irritating little fur-beast... _ obviously _ !”

“Mmm. Sure you were,” John answers tauntingly.

He brushes past Sherlock, lifts a disgruntled Toby off the laptop and plops him unceremoniously onto the floor.

“Your laptop is now cat free, your highness!” John teases, making his way back into the kitchen.  


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock is still in his room when John puts the kettle on. May as well make two cups, he thinks. His flatmate always drags himself out in the morning for a cuppa he doesn’t have to make on his own, the lazy git. Not that he truly minds. 

As he turns to grab the milk, he hears Sherlock's door open. Then a loud crash in the hall followed by some uncommonly colorful language.

Poking his head around the corner he gets an eyeful of completely starkers Sherlock, on the floor, sheet wrapped around his ankles.

He catches himself staring a tick longer than is probably appropriate as Sherlock grumbles loudly into the floor.

“If you wished to see me naked so badly you could just sit on the bed as I dress!”

He feels his cheeks flush, quickly averts his eyes with a mumbled “m’sorry” and ducks back into the kitchen. Missing Sherlock tugging his sheet out from under a playful Toby, who is still grappling at the ends.

Another curse from the hall and a whiny “Jaaawwwn, this cat is a goddamn menace!” has him sighing in relief that the original retort was NOT directed toward his blatant staring at his best friend's naked body. He was yelling at Toby. Perhaps he didn't notice at all. He busies himself pouring the water, hoping the color had faded from his cheeks. 


	4. Chapter 4

“You're staring again,” the low baritone states from behind his paper. 

John quickly looks back to his own book, not saying a word.

“You may think I don't notice, but I'm onto you,” Sherlock continues, his face still hidden from view and his tone bored and agitated.

John refuses to look up. Did he really catch him staring? God that's awkward, what does he even say to that?

“And while we're at it, please stop licking your lips, it's disturbing.”

John clamps his mouth shut, the little tic suddenly quite embarrassing.

Should he say something? Deny that he was indeed staring? Acknowledge it? The ramifications of that could be devastating by the inflection in his friend's voice. So he stays quiet, book held as a shield.

“Oh for heaven's…we both know you wish to climb into my lap, so let's just be getting on with it.”

_ What??!!  _ John's world tilts a bit at that last comment.

“John?” Sherlock begins, and no, this can't be happening…

“John...this ridiculous creature seems to have become obsessed with me. It's on my lap. It sleeps in my bed. It lays on my  _ coat... _ John? Are you even listening?”

John quite loudly releases a held breath and lowers his book.

_ Just the cat again. He has GOT to stop with this before I have a bloody heart attack...or possibly do something we'll both regret…. _

_ “ _ S’pose you are just...comfortable to cuddle with,” he answers, feeling himself blush at the insinuation.

Sherlock eyes him curiously, and the only reply is a contemplative, “Perhaps.”

John goes back to his book, but not before smiling a little as he notices long violinist fingers absently stroking behind furry ears. 


	5. Chapter 5

The blushing and stuttering. John thinks he hasn't noticed, hasn't noticed him noticing. Oh, how he envies his unobservant mind. 

The question remains, why? It seems to happen most frequently when he is speaking to Toby, yet what connection between John and the cat could cause that reaction?

_ Or maybe it's not the cat, but the words used and situations occurring while doing so...hmm. _

An experiment then. He's always wondered if the... _ affection _ ...he has developed for his blogger could be reciprocated.

_ Unlikely...but a little experimenting couldn't hurt… _

John is currently at his dull, unnecessary job, plenty of time to figure out a situation that could test his hypothesis. He just needs a moment when the cat and John are in the same room. Given that the maybe not so annoying animal seems to be his permanent shadow, this shouldn't be a problem.

He smiles and runs a hand over the soft lump of purring fur in his lap.

_ “ _ Perhaps you can be of some use after all, beastie,” he comments out loud, not unaware of a slight affection in his voice.


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock groans, watching Toby, one leg over his head, obsessively cleaning himself. His disgust quickly turns to a slight smirk as he hears the shower squeak off.

_ Oh! Perfect timing! _

A few minutes later and John, clad only in a loosely knotted towel, exits the loo and sighs.

“Toby!” he barks out, “That's disgusting!” before heading toward the stairs.

Seizing the moment, Sherlock mutters loud enough to be heard, “Just because your arse is nice and clean now doesn't mean you need to flaunt it!”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees John, back to him, pause and tense up, as Toby wanders over to sit beside the sofa.

_ Good cat. _

_ “ _ Yes, ok fine,” he continues still keeping his voice calm and unaffected, “I suppose you  _ are _ rather attractive and you do have lovely eyes, but don't think you'll use them to get what you want from me.”

His lips twitch into a smile at his own choice of phrasing as John clears his throat nervously behind him.

“Are you...on the phone, Sherlock?” the flustered doctor manages to get out without turning around.

_ The phone? Oh, John, really? In what conversation and to whom on earth would I  _ **_ever_ ** _ say that over the phone? _

“Don't be simple John, you know I prefer to text,” he replies, making sure to keep his eyes averted and voice flat.

Out of the corner of his peripheral vision he sees John's posture stiffen minutely.

“Right then,” he mutters, and quickly climbs the stairs to his room. Door shutting just a bit louder than usual.

_ Interesting. _

He pats his knee and Toby hops up and curls on his chest.

_ Very interesting... _


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock is, as usual, lost in his own mind, glued to the microscope. John is on the opposite end of the table attempting to eat his breakfast. The disgusting nature of today's or any day's choice of experiment doesn't even phase him anymore. Not quite sure  _ why _ fish entrails are necessary or what bearing it has on anything but if it is keeping Sherlock occupied it's a good thing. A bored Sherlock is never good. 

Toby has been lurking around the kitchen, also quite interested in the current situation. John has shooed him several times but he keeps sneaking back in to nose at the bowl of fish guts on the floor.

John, still watching his flatmate, reaches for his tea when his sleeve knocks his fork off the tabletop, and it goes clattering onto the floor. He sighs and slips under the table to get it. Just as he sees Toby inching toward Sherlock’s bowl of leftover bits again.

_ That is disgusting. _

He fetches the escaped cutlery and crawls closer to Sherlock's legs, reaching out to try to shove Toby away from the dish, when he accidentally misses the cat and swats his friend’s upper calf instead. Sherlock barely flinches as he speaks.

“I know you are thinking of how you'd love a bit of a taste down there, and I suppose I can't blame you, but it's really not a good time.”

John backs up so fast he smacks his head into the table.

“Do be careful John. You'll concuss yourself. Toby! I told you, now is not a good time to be nosing around in there,” he continues, using his socked foot to slide a disgruntled Toby away from the bowl once again.

John rubs the growing lump on the back of his head and sighs the sigh of a man who has about reached his limit with this cat and his nutter flatmate. Willing the color on his cheeks away as he scoots back out and into his seat, he keeps his head down, completely missing the small smile playing around the edges Sherlock's mouth.  


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock is just coming out of his room when he sees John, in his chair, facing his own empty chair as he begins to speak.

“I don't know why it bothers me. I suppose I hoped after all this time you would show at least a little interest in me. I feed you, clean up your messes, cater to your every need, but you…” he sighs, “you won't even let me touch you.

“Honestly, I don't even know why I am saying this to you, not like it will change anything. I guess i just hoped we could have gotten...a bit closer, you know?”

Sherlock winces.

_ I've upset him. He wants...something more? Stupid! How did I not noti… _

He then sees Toby stand up and stretch in his chair.

_ The cat. He was talking to the cat _

He mentally kicks himself a bit for misreading the situation

_ Oh. Oh! This is how he must feels every time I… oh that's a bit not good… _

Quietly he backs out of the sitting room and retreats back to his own room. 


	9. Chapter 9

John yawns and stretches as he makes his way from the stairs to the kitchen. Sherlock is in his chair, hands steepled, facing him but apparently deep in thought, not seeming to notice him. 

He is startled mid-reach for a mug when Sherlock starts speaking. 

“This isn't what i intended when you first came to stay here, you know. I never expected I would come to require your presence...or experience such an alarming... affection toward you. However I find now that your company is not only helpful, but pleasant and almost necessary to me. I...have been hesi...afraid to put it to words knowing that a time will come when you will no longer be living here. Only recently have I noticed any indication to the possibility you may feel a similar sentiment. I... would like you to know that I...feel the same - if this is the case.”

His hands are still steepled but his eyes are closed as John steps to the doorway of the sitting room. 

“Wow. Sherlock. Never thought you’d end up getting so attached,” he interjects.

Kaleidoscope eyes meet his without any of their normal disdain or aloofness, but with something much more open, almost vulnerable about them

“And why not, John?” Sherlock questions quietly.

“Because it's just a cat.”

“Cat? John...Molly came for Toby earlier this morning.”

John blinks in confusion as he begins to ask, “Then who were you...oh!” taking a step back as what is going on dawns on him.

The face of the calculating genius detective has given way into something not unlike a nervous and shy teenager.  

“Oh,” he repeats quietly. 


	10. Chapter 10

John is frozen in the space between the kitchen and his chair. At a complete loss for what to say. 

It was a bit cute, and almost funny, a moment ago when he assumed the words had been, once again, directed at the cat. Now the weight of the reality that Sherlock is metaphorically holding his heart out to him, has laid himself bare, is terrifying. He feels the same, of course he does, has done for so long now, but still never dared hope for it to actually be reciprocated. Now it has. And he is standing there, blinking, as he watches his flatmate’s - his best friend's - face go from a look of nervousness to one of panic.

He has to speak up. He doesn't know what to say or how, God, he is awful with these kinds of things - but he needs to stop staring like an idiot and say something fast before Sherlock shuts off or bolts from the situation.

The best he can manage is a barely audible, “Oh, Sherlock.”

The younger man's eyes are wide and full of anxiety. His hands still pressed together, resting against his lips.

“John?” he begins, voice a bit shaky and only just above a whisper, and John can't look at those eyes anymore, shifting his gaze to the carpet.

There is silence for a few moments and then a quiet, “Did I do it wrong, John? I’m sorr-”

“No,” John forces out, and Sherlock stops mid-word, dropping his face into his hands.

He looks so young and so lost and John sucks in a deep breath and gently tries again.

“I mean, no, don't apologize.”

Pale eyes peek out through long fingers as John sidesteps his own chair and moves to stand in front of Sherlock’s and continues, fondly, with a twitch of smile.

“No, you adorable idiot. You didn't do it wrong. You're right, you're always right, I...do...uh...Oh bloody hell, I am shit at this!” he exclaims brushing Sherlock's hands away from his face with one hand and forcing him back into the chair with the other. He leans down and presses a lingering kiss to his friend's shocked and slightly parted lips.

Sherlock whimpers into the kiss and brings his legs up behind to pull John forward. He goes willingly but as he steps closer his heel catches something on the floor and throws his balance forward, and the next second he falls half sprawled over Sherlock's lap. Their eyes catch and they break into laughter.

“Sodding plush mouse,” John manages before he is pulled down fully into Sherlock's lap and back into a sloppy, half giggle half kiss.

Sherlock looks at him, with bright, laughing eyes.

“John? I think we should get a cat.”


End file.
